


Can You Be Silent?

by CatLovelace



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Childhood Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Eye Horror, Guns, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Knives, M/M, Monsters, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Oral Sex, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovelace/pseuds/CatLovelace
Summary: Jack is forced to visit his childhood home to get his grandmother's affairs in order. The town hasn't really changed, but his past won't stay out of his present. Plus, the fog is new





	1. Wingless Angels and Vulture Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Rhack Big Bang 2019. Thanks for everyone for helping me brainstorm and the encouragement. 
> 
> Special thanks to my artists: 
> 
> anna-bruja - twitter @ https://twitter.com/nastiibruja  
> tumblr @ https://nastiibruja.tumblr.com/
> 
> and 
> 
> InkyHorror - tumblr @ https://inkyhorror.tumblr.com/
> 
> (will try to figure out better html by the final chapter)

_“Am I a bad person?” Asked the child to the world while burying a loved one._

_“You cannot ask that question yet.” The world informed. But the child decided he already had his answer._

________________

The storm threatened to break overhead. Had been all day. Distant thunder lazily rolling into town and trailing Jack at its own pace. Loud bursts would roar rocking the car. Jack felt it mix with the steady thrum of the engine beneath his fingers.

He looked away from the storm clouds drearily stalking him. Couldn’t adjust the rearview mirror anyway. Been stuck forever. Idly he pulled at the seatbelt biting into his shoulder. 

Already Jack could sense his work emails piling up. The annoyance itching up his back and bunching up the nerves in his shoulders into a tight, frustrated cluster. A taut grimace to his breath.

His phone rang a jingle from The Penguins. Jack was regretting a conversation that had yet to happen. He swallowed down the taste of breakfast, now stale on his tongue, with day old coffee.

“Heya Princess.”

“Jack where are you?”

“No ‘hey’ or ‘how was your day’? I know I raised you better than that Angel.”

“You also raised me to not take any bull-“

“Language.”

“-Stuff. Bullstuff is what I was going to say sir.” She cleared her throat. Jack knew his daughter would be pacing. IV bag swaying back and forth. He could check the nanny cams to confirm, but that could wait for now. “So where are you?”

“Hold your unicorns there, sweetie. It’s just a day trip. Some bozos need Daddy’s magic signature.”

“Jack.”

“Even dumber is they need me in person. Like I understand the appeal, but there’s only so much of the magic to go around. Can’t waste that on any petty whatever.”

“ _Jack._ ”

“It’s wild Angel. The lengths people will go to just to be a little closer to the awesomeness that is me. You saw that for sale sign disappear from the neighbour’s yard? Yeah. That was because of me baby. Your old man brings up property values just by being there.”

“Jack! This is about her isn’t it?” Angel’s voice breaking through. A car careered just shy of his. Jack flipped them off. 

“First off, don’t interrupt me. You know I hate that. Don’t interrupt me. Hate it.”

“Second Angel, I have no idea what you’re talking about so I would drop it.”

“It’s not fair Jack. Why couldn’t I have come?”

“Trust me when I say you want to be doing literally anything else.” Jack pulled out past the Ashfield city limits.

“I could be interested in this.” She retorted.

“No one is interested in this. It’s not exactly a whirlwind of emotions, Sweet Pea. I stand by that. No one actively looks forward to reading papers. Signing papers. Then co-signing papers. Notarising papers. Oh, and wowee signing different papers.”

“You never know. I could become a human rights lawyer. Or a social worker!”

“I’d sooner let you get a blue tattoo.”

“Jack social work is important.”

“It’s important for other people.”

“I could be other people. In two years I could apply to law school then…”

“Aaand that’s another topic that we’re dropping. We’re dropping it like it’s hot and we hate it.” He traced the faint line along the bridge of his nose. Barest trace of scar tissue. 

“Jack this isn’t fair.”

“Sorry there Princess. I don’t remember where I taught you that life was fair.”

“I should have been allowed to come! She was my-“

“Nothing! She was your nothing! Remember that, you hear me?”

“I don’t think-“

“We’re back to me telling you to drop it.”

“I won’t-“

“You will! _Now!_ You will stop interrupting me. You will stop talking back to me. And you _will_ drop it!” Jack absolutely roared at her. His ragged breaths seething in time with the ever incoming thunder. He vaguely heard both translate to monstrous static on her end.

“Yes sir.” Angel finally answered.

“You’re smart, baby. You know this. I say jump and you say how high.”

“Of course sir.”

“I’m the parent. You are the child.”

“You are correct sir.” She didn’t sound like his daughter. She sounded like a dispassionate answering machine. This just made him feel tired.

“Look you won’t be alone. Wilhelm will be there.” Angel stayed quiet. She had better be listening to him. Jack gripped his phone harder. He could feel the case begin to bend under his slowly curling fingers. “Study with Meg, okay? Can’t… can’t even think about applying to law school in two years without good grades.”

“Whatever you say sir.”

“And call me for anything at all. Even just to say goodnight, okay?”

“Yes sir.” Okay this monotone, low-energy crap was getting old. The irritation was teeming back up from underneath his affection.

“I just want you to be happy Angel.”

“Thank you sir.”

“I love you.” She knew what to say in return.

“Love you too.” He hung up. This would all be over soon. One last bit of business to bury. 

Then the past would be the past. Nothing, but the future to look forward to. Starting with him driving into Silent Hill proper.

__________

He could not actually reach Silent Hill proper. There was definitely an ulcer forming in the pit of his stomach. There was a twitch to his eye and his hands itched to strangle whatever idiot was involved in this nonsense.

Oh he’d work up the chain of command. Start with the little guys. Jack would chase them down from their support beams then beat every last one unconscious with their stupid friggin’ hard hats.

After that he’d carve through the middle management. Pencil pushers would die as they had lived – spineless in their small cubicles.

City Counsel. Yes they would be his crowning achievement to righteous fury. The only bright spot as all Jack could do was look on and wonder.

“Who the shit built this in the middle of the stinkin’ road?!”

Smack diddly dab of Nathan Avenue, the main road into Old Town Silent Hill, was completely cut off. No detour sign or side path. Absolutely blocked. An industrial construction site. Complete with blue tarps draped over the great monstrosity. He could see the skeletal frames outlined just underneath its creased edges.

“Which you being here is just perfect and magical!’ Jack turned on a huff and his heel before pivoting right back around. “Not!” He pointed an accusatory finger.

Jack left trying to intimidate the inanimate object to lean against his car. He fiddled with the map on his phone. His location a spotty waypoint popping in and out.

Yeah this was it. Apparently not all roads lead in to this town. Not that he could blame them. Jack would have to drive across state lines for a chance to reach Old Town. Or…

He traced his index finger away from the main road. His old hiking trails might still be a thing.

Ugh. Jack pocketed his phone and began to pry at the construction site entrance. Knowing this piece of shit town they put this up, but didn’t actually do anything.

The rusted padlock and chain unraveled with a dull flop to the concrete. Piece of cake. Jack threw open the door. The dingy gate bounced off the ‘Workers Only’ sign.

Well. 

Whatever he had been expecting it hadn’t been this.

A deep chasm. So dark and cavernous that Jack couldn’t see to the bottom. It spewed a foul steam. Thick and cloying. Burning up his nose.

“If this is a literal shithole then I’m gonna be sick.”

He looked across the long, long expanse to the other side. The opposite side was teetering on the edge of the hole. Its door firmly shackled tight. Criss crosses of chains and locks. “Well that’s just excessive. Why have a door at all?”

Something red to the left of the door absurdity caught his eye. Scrawled messily and still dripping crimson:

**There’s an empty box for you**

The witty remark died on his tongue. It soured quickly with his last coffee. Jack turned away from the odd innards of the construction site. Even in his best attempts to live as an action star, there wasn’t a chance in hell for him getting his car across.

Hiking trails it was. He pulled what he’d probably need from his car – wallet, keys, handgun, and a phone charger. Locking up tight and checking every car door plus the boot.

Jack gave one last look around. Construction site still blocking the entirety of public thoroughfare. Not a soul around to be bothered as he. Storm clouds knitting together in a an inescapable grey fabric. And looking down off the landing garnered only a few sparse, dead looking trees haggardly piercing through a languid sea of fog.

“Welp see ya.” He waved to the support beams and tarp from over his shoulder. “And remember that you’re a monument to failure in urban planning!”

Jogging down past the landing’s brick ledge, Jack considered maybe he should relax on the talking to himself thing a bit. But who was he to deprive the world of his voice. He was but one man with endless running commentary founded on brilliance, breath-taking good looks, and perfection to provide.

Loose stones rolled under his feet. His dull footfalls the only real ambient sound. Straining his ears as the path curved, he heard the shudder of the branches under storm winds. Wolves off somewhere probably better called to each other.

His path split in two. If he took the winding path to his left he could see if South Vale, Silent Hill was civilised enough for taxis. If he braved through a decrepit cemetery.

Nope. Eff that. Giant hole to hell earlier and all this fog was creepy enough.

Jack hopped over a ‘No Trespassing’ sign to the right. He practically owned these paths when he was a kid. Just running in circles around the lake or after school in the forest. Now he was already panting from a light jog. 

His path wound him around and around. Meaningless long circles of ill maintained dirt paths. He found himself searching for anything familiar. Nothing of note. Not after all these years and especially not with this fog. 

For a half-assed tourist trap there still wasn’t anyone around. Even in the off season, Jack remembered people. There was always people. Always someone. 

The absence annoyed him. Put his teeth on edge. He worried the edge of his lip. A bothersome feeling settled on his shoulders. His skin itching from the loneliness. It percolated up especially about the bridge of his nose. His heart beating faster than it should. 

It wasn’t just this long jog that set it racing. It was this murky air and this silence and his lungs conspiring with them and there really wasn’t anyone -

There was a kid. As he reached the lake, there was a kid. This kid was like twenty-eight at most. Some baby fat still clinging to his high cheekbones. His pants were so ill fitting and loose the only way they were staying up on his forever-long legs was a belt. Jack would bet money on that. 

He approached slowly. Sweat still lightly sticking to his brow. Passively he took in the lake to his right. 

Still dull and choppy as ever. Only on a rare summer day would it occasionally sparkle. It rolled on and lapped at the border. 

Ahead of him Jack could barely make out some sort of carnival. Bright loops of colour straining to break from the suffocating mist. Oh goodie. Because he really loved those. 

Kid still hadn’t noticed him yet. Hunched over the railing and fiddling with something small. Warm, chestnut brown hair hanging over his face. His bright blue jumper a stark spot of periwinkle against the gloom. The right sleeve rolled up and pinned to the shoulder. 

“Hey!” Jack called. He knew he looked the picture of casual. Leaning back on his heels and hands in the jean pockets. Kid by comparison fully leapt. Squawking and flailing. He fumbled, as he landed, with his small box. “You done?”

“You-! I’m… I’m fine.” Kid gripped whatever he was holding right to his heart. 

“Perfect. Now mind telling me where everyone is?”

“What do you mean?” Brat still hadn’t turned to face him. Rudely checking over the pale brown gadget in his hand. 

“I mean why is no one around, dum dum. Rapture happen when I wasn’t looking?” 

“Um no.” Okay enough ignoring Jack time. He surged forward. His fingers brushing the cold plastic casing. 

“No stop!” Kid ripped away from Jack. Tucking his body over the thing. Even after landing on the ground he stayed curled up to his knees. He finally looked at Jack. And the older man had ****his own set of heterochromia, a rather rare and dashing pair of green and blue, that literally only one other family member had. That wasn't the issue here.

So his left eye… it wasn’t normal. 

It reminded Jack of a vulture he saw as a child. He was stuck waiting for the light to change for the crosswalk. He stood like he should under the safe glow of the streetlight. But he could hear it.

Past the lit radius he could hear the sounds of snipping and tearing. Little crunches. Distinctive, small snaps. Pop. Snap. Pop. Snap. _Riiiiiip_. Crunch. The light still wasn’t changing. He braved to shine his torch light. Always best to carry it and be prepared. 

Hunched over the grisly remains of something fluffy was the vulture. Its sharp maw drenched in blood. Beak digging into flesh and tearing away tendons. Pop. Small bones popping apart.

It didn’t so much as glare at him. It did consider his small body with a cock of its head. Perhaps it felt nothing for him. A pervasive apathy. Longing at most. For the sinew binding his bones and muscles. It dared for him to put that torch away, leave the small halo shielding him, then run across the street.

He took that dare. 

Sprinting. Screaming for his life. Ignoring honking cars and rolling onto the other side’s sidewalk. 

Traffic continued. This new side’s street light flickered abysmally. The vulture had stopped caring. It picked at its grey feathers a bit. Rubbing tacky red around. 

Even across the street and over the roar of cars, he knew. He knew with the collective wisdom garnered from under a decade of life, that the beast could still hear his heartbeat. 

Beating against his ribcage. Bullying his lungs. Loudly beckoning the bird to separate it from its proper prison. To alchemise functioning cardiac tissue and he into carrion. 

Its eyes glowed a pale and murky blue. A terrible film over it. His small body running cold. His blood vexed and chilled. 

He ran all the way home after it looked away.

Now this kid had that vulture eye. Pale blue and surely cursed, he looked scared. 

“Don’t touch it please.” He said with a pout. Jack raised an unimpressed brow at the pursed lips. 

He focused on the deep brown eye on the right. 

“Alright, alright. No touchie the thingie.” The young man looked unsure. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t even want to touch your thingie.”

“It’s a radio.”

“I can see that smart guy. Thingie is funnier. Try saying it. Thingie. Thing _ie_. Classic. Also I said I didn’t want to touch your thingie. Like your dick. Get it?” Kid didn’t find it as funny as he should have. Well he wasn’t helping anyway so… “This has been magical, but I gotta go before I lose anymore precious brain cells.” 

He sauntered past the seated kid. Saluting over his shoulder. There was that carnival he saw earlier. Gotta be someone there. 

“Wait!” He spared a glance back. Apparently this guy hadn’t figured out how to stand. That beloved radio of his resting in his lap. 

“Look this has been really fun, kiddo. Truly. And I know I have plenty of brain cells. Arguably enough to spare, but they’re like diamonds. Shame to trash even one, you know?” 

“What? No I mean, you’re not heading into town are you?”

“And if I am?”

“Cause.. well this town… there’s kinda something wrong with it. Why would you?”

“Cause gosh my tan could really use the sunshine.” Jack received a positively baffled expression in return. “Again really feeling my top-tier quality jokes are not being appreciated here.” 

“Eh heh heh?”

“You certainly gave it the old college try didn’t you sport?”

“Whatever makes you happy I guess.” Kid looked sheepish. Unsure with his answer. He pocketed the radio. Bracing on a knee he pushed up. He staggered a bit, but ultimately gave Jack a shy thumbs up. Jack rolled his eyes and walked away. 

“Not that I’m telling you what to do” Kid caught up. Trailing just a step behind Jack trying to shake him. “But… um… I… well if I had a choice. Then a pretty sweet deal to me would be to leave.” 

“Then leave.” Look at Jack making the world a better place by solving the unsolvable. 

“Psh. You make it sound so easy. I mean if you say it’s easy then… you could show me?” Gesturing back to where Jack had come from. The old hiking trail swallowed up by the rolling fog. 

“Trust me. Once I’m done here then I’ll be _done_ here. Capisce? Plus and you gotta know I hate repeating myself like this. If _you_ want to leave, then _you_ can leave. Don’t need Daddy’s permission.”

“D-daddy?”

“I believe in you. Those long legs can spirit you to hither and yon. Et cetera and so.”

“Like leaving this town is that simple...”

“Because it is!” The jubilant visual fanfare rose up about them. Empty dunking booths. Stale corn dog setups. Depressingly dead carousels. “Grew up in this town. But did I have trouble leaving? Not a bit. Spread my majestic-ass wings and didn’t look back.”

“Until now?” Kid wasn’t sparing a glance around him. 

“Okay yeah.” Jack begrudgingly admitted. Slouching as the wind left his sails. Brat was starting to be a leech in his side. A bit of movement dashed between the booths ahead.

“Wait you grew up here?” 

“Yup.” He really popped the final consonant. “Got the class ring to prove it.” In a bin trapped somewhere lost to storage. 

“Did… did you like it here?” Geez did this guy have any other personality besides subservient or desperately clingy? Out of the corner of his eye Jack caught him looking downright amazed that the older man was there. Completely agog. 

“That’s why I left. Loved it so much I needed to let my heart grow fonder with absence.” 

“Did it?”

“Fuck no. Same spit of nothing it always was.” He actually spit at that. Idly he scratched the side of his neck. “Though admittedly… the fog is new.” 

Someone was running ahead of them. Jack picked up his pace. 

“New?”

Jack ignored him. Instead of answering he whistled and waved. The person kept running away. Black hair brushing past their shoulders. Even from this distance, he could see how small their frame was. Oi! 

Jack whistled sharply again. This time they did look back. He’d know those brilliant baby blues anywhere. 

“So probably should have said earlier, but I’m Rhys. You said Daddy before. Should I call you that… or?”

“Angel?” She was getting away.

“That’s a nice name.”

“Angel!” Jack took after her. Why was she running faster now? No, how was she here? She was safely at home! Wilhelm would never let her out of the house without his permission. There were trackers on her person, her belongings, and maybe one in her back tooth. Complex parental locks to keep her _there_ and not _here_ and - 

The sight of her dipped in and out of the fog. He was not about to let his daughter get away. 

How was she running? Angel had been on crutches for years. That couldn’t be her hair. He knew all of her wigs by now. Why did she look so scared?

His mind whirled helplessly around itself. It tripped and looped over the same questions. That light jog earlier was now a walk in the park as he chased and chased and _chased_. 

She had never been able to outrun him before. His legs felt more useless and heavy as she flickered out of sight one last time. 

“No!” This had to be a nightmare. Where he had cinder blocks instead of legs. Plastic bags for lungs. And his baby girl slipping further and further out of reach. 

Hand outstretched for her, but never closer. Beckoning. Grasping at opaque air.

Jack panted and heaved. His bone white grip crushing his kneecaps. The ground wavering before his eyes. She wasn’t safe out here. He’d never let her come here alone for a reason. Jack’s stomach rotted at the thought. 

This was never the place for her. Though distantly now he reasoned that _she,_ that woman, was dead. Could no longer hurt anyone really. Angel couldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here. Like death would stop her. He had to find his daughter. Save her. Keep her safe and -

“J-jack?” The guy, Rhys, hovered nearby. “Are you okay?” Jack himself kept looking. Scanning around. 

He pulled his phone out. The connection weak. Nanny cams stuttered to life.

There she was. Sitting primly at her desk in the home classroom. His earth Angel. Jack shuddered out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

He probably just saw some local kid playing hooky. Like Angel would be here. Tch. 

“Rhys, right?” Now he was the one not looking at the other man.

“Yeah?” 

“Buzz off already.” He didn’t buzz off. 

“You just took off and left me.” Get back to the road. Wind around the lake. Whatever legal schmucks that called him here were probably shacking up at granny’s place. “And who’s Angel?” 

“None of your business that’s who.”

“I think I have the right to ask when you go chasing after imaginary angels.” 

“Look pal. She didn’t look imaginary! She looked like she was right there!” He threw a hand. Following along the line of sight of his fingers there was something there. 

It barely came up to his knees. 

It looked like a kid. Head slumped down. Shoulders twitching weakly. Clothing molted. A sad shade of yellow for an old jumper. 

“Is that Angel?” Rhys peered over his shoulder. 

“Absolutely not.” Jack pulled away insulted. Guess that answered his unanswered question of if Rhys knew the urchin. Still this did count as someone. “Hey kid! Your parents around?”

Still slumped over. Still twitchy. 

“Really starting to hate this place.” He grumbled. “Hello? Fall asleep standing up?” Snapping his fingers resulted in squat. “Hey Rhysie. You good with kids?” 

“Why would I be good with kids?”

“You look like one, ya stilted twink.” Before Rhys could retort his jean pocket let out a horrible sound. 

A kind of monstrous static. Undulating and scrapping at his eardrums. 

“The hell?” Rhys pulled the screeching radio from his pocket. 

“Rhys turn that thing off! I think my ears are bleeding!” 

“I- I didn’t turn it on! It was broken! That’s why I was trying to fix it!’ 

“I can see that. Unless you’re tuned into the world’s shittiest station.” Rhys frantically turned every dial. Pushed all the buttons. Fiddling it around and around with a single hand. “Sometime today?” 

“It’s trickier than it looks!” 

“There’s like two knobs and five buttons! Give it here!” 

“No! I meant it earlier. Don’t touch it!” 

“I’m going to touch it if you don’t stop it in the next three seconds-” 

“Oh like you could do better!” Rhys snapped back. A new fire to his eyes. Jack was more focused on owning him back because that was _clearly_ a challenge. 

“Yes I would! And I’d do it before it’d freak out the kid, pumpkin.” 

He threw a hand out. Slapping the kid across the crown of their head. Brat finally stopped twitching. With a small series of clacks, the head lifted stiffly up. 

Where a face should be was what might be called a mouth. Perfectly round. Denoted by a small grey tongue. A quivering, moist uvula. Thin, dripping rivulets oozing out. 

Rhys swore first, but Jack swore louder. The thing was louder than both of them. 

Its crying echoed. Horribly wrenching. Wailing. 

“Fuck this!” Jack pulled his handgun out and unloaded two bullets into the shrieking, sobbing mess. It gurgled. Stuttering towards both of them with small, corpse hands. Then fell over. A wet, boneless slap. 

“H-holy shit.” They both breathed out. 

“Did you just shoot a weird kid?” Jack toed the dead monster before pocketing his gun and answering. 

“That definitely wasn’t a kid. I don’t even think it qualifies as a corpse.” 

“You shot it twice in its- its face hole!” Rhys was looking very, very green. 

“Corpses usually have a real face, babe.” The younger man continued to look queasy. This day trip of Jack’s had turned into more of a living nightmare than he would have thought. Legal nightmare? To be expected. Actual nightmare? Oh, all the better. 

“Hey Rhysie.” His eyes tracing over the monster’s clothes. The bridge of his nose was itching more. “Think there’s any more of these things around?” 

“I’d hate to say it, but… probably? Like have you ever heard of a situation where a place has only one monster?” Jack looked at him. He actually had... “Like in movies, there’s always a bigger monster after the little one shows up.” 

“That’s quiet now.” The older man jumped in conversation. He pointed at Rhys’ hand. “Only started up around the freak.” 

“Huh.” Rhys turned it over curiously in his hand. “I found it. Knew it was important somehow. That I needed to protect it.” 

“Just knew?”

“Just knew.” 

Jack held out his palm. Waiting. There was a pregnant pause between the two of them. A hesitant air of consideration. 

Gingerly the radio was placed in Jack’s waiting hand. 

“And I want it back.” Rhys couldn’t pull off stern. 

“Sure thing, kiddo.” ‘Kiddo’ muttered under his breath, but didn’t press the issue. 

It was unimpressive in his hand as it was in Rhys’. Though there was a bit of tinny murmuring eeking out. Like an old seashell Jack held it up to his ear. 

“Jo - -? - - hn! Li - - -n - e - e - oy! You can’t - - - - run - - ay from - - ! After - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - e done. I am - - - - - -ent - - - you - - - - - - - - - -ild! You - - - - - - - - - - - better? - - - - - -- - - - - -- -escaped - - sins? You can’t - - - - - - - - the - - - - - - - - - - - - standing - - - - ont of you! - - -inherited blood - - - - - - hands.” 

He flinched away. What the everloving crap was that? That sounded like… But _she_ was dead. He reminded himself that _she_ _was dead_. More dust and composting bacteria than person. 

Dead. He repeated again. Sliding the radio back over. The plastic now warm. 

“You okay? You look a little pale.” 

“What’s the fastest way to Old Town?” 

“Not a clue…” Rhys started. His eyes drifted off. That fire from before dimming inside. Now only the vulture one seemed alive. “Actually. By boat. We can skip over the lake.” 

He pointed across the flat, dull expanse of the water. With the fog Jack could only see halfway down the nearby boardwalk. 

“That so?” He met the off eyes of the younger man. Nathan Avenue did open back up after you left the park. It hugged the lake around all the way to the hotel on the other side and his old school then Old Town itself. On foot though that path might take forever. And honestly Jack was done with this place five minutes in, much less forever. 

“Alright so.” He clamped his hands down on Rhys’ shoulders. Some sparks distantly rekindled in his eyes. Jack wore his most charming smile. “We’re gonna find a boat with a damn motor cause I am _not_ rowing. And we’re gonna survive this fucking town together. Sound good, cupcake?” 

“Together?” He perked up. “You’re not going to leave me to the monsters?” 

“You said you can fix that radio? Keep that goober alive and we’ll avoid all the monsters.” 

“As as team?” 

“Yeah. Sure. I see a bit of myself in you, kiddo. So let’s find a boat first before we start getting matching jackets.” Rhys responded with the most honest smile Jack had seen in ages. A beacon in the fog that shimmered like the lake on the rare sunny day in Summer. His old heart lurched. 

“Oh! I know where we can get a boat! Nearby!” The young man bounced on his feet. The energy a touch infectious. He tugged at Jack’s right hand before he become so excited that he ran ahead. Beckoning Jack to follow. 

With the kid running just ahead Jack let his charming smile drop. He thumbed across his phone lock screen. Angel’s bright, gap-tooth grin greeted him. There was another honest smile for him. His baby girl was waiting for him. Hell or high water couldn’t keep him from reaching her again. 

“Jack come on!” Rhys called. Taking a steadying breath Jack pocketed his phone. He’d stick around this guy for now. But he knew not to trust him. 

He’d never actually told Rhys that his name was Jack. 


	2. Boat Therapy

Kiddo was right on the money about the monster thing. After the first one more fetid, little beasts came twitching out of the woodwork. Popping out from under cars. Banging the empty shop windows from the inside. Their howling summoned more. 

He couldn’t shoot them all. Even after running past damn knows how many, freaks still gave him a freaking heart attack. His stomach rolled at seeing their small, dark-brown handprints littered about. Hell knows what the stains were made of. Old blood or mud or maybe they bled chocolate sauce. This whole affair a delightful surprise. Hurrah! 

Rhys had fallen behind after they left Rose Water Park. “I’m not used to…” He sucked in air. Hunched over and miserably panting. 

“Actually moving? The physical motion of using those leg things of yours?” Jack beat in a monster’s skulls under the heel of his boot. “Tell me, dum dum, you ever do anything in your life besides sit on your ass?” 

Rhys didn’t have a quippy follow through. He remained pretty closely pinned to Jack. Despite Jack’s best efforts to pilfer the radio and leave Mr. Freaky Eye. Hell the older man had even figured out where they were going. The Historical Society had a boat rental behind it. And if one were to say… come untied and drift off since no one was around… 

The fog kept closing in. Oppressively squeezing him. It hung from his shoulders with its ethereal talons. An uncomfortable, idle pinch as he ran. His dismal footfalls beating the concrete flatly resounding whenever the monsters decided to take a hike. 

It wasn’t like they were swarming by the hundreds. Jack couldn’t predict when the radio would pop alive with sickly static moments before the world’s creepiest orphan would rear its gaping, needy not-face. Or when it was Nothing O’Clock. 

Just him and the lonesome town. Stretched empty and left wanting. Silent Hill, it seemed, was just like everything and everyone else. 

It never changed. 

Boats lay side by side at the rental place. All rusty coffins from disuse. Jack strolled right by the LoveBoat(™) Couples brand boats. Strolled right up to the two employee use only ones bobbing in the water. He gripped the handle of the ignition and pulled. The taut wire didn’t budge. Hissing Jack flexed his fingers. Okay take two, you tin bucket. Jack propped his foot up on the aged motor, gripped the ignition, and _pulled._ This time it sputtered weakly. 

“Hey Rhysie, could you lend a hand?” He released the ignition again to massage his hand. Silence. He saw the kid looking awkwardly at his right sleeve all rolled up. That’s it. Jack was done socialising. He’s going to kick his grandmother out of whatever corpse box they were keeping her in. Get in himself. Then demand whatever pissant pallbearers are around to _bury_ him. 

“Why not this one?” Rhys had wandered over and was now shuffling back and forth by the opposite, smaller, and thus inferior boat. 

“Rhys, I could fill that thimble up with my spit. There’s no way we could both fit in it. I’d have to leave you behind.” There was a pause. “You know this suggestion of yours holds merit Rhysie.” 

The younger man, with the light back in both eyes, raised a slim brow. Jack batted his ever so innocent eyes at an unimpressed pout. Rhys held up the radio. 

“Oh yeah. That nonsense.” Dutifully Jack turned to resurrecting their ride. A few more sputters and putters then - the engine roared to life. The rumble echoed through the delicate bones in Jack’s fingers. Idly he drummed them. He turned back to Rhys who rolled his eyes at the older man’s smug grin. “Come on, you’re impressed.” 

“Oh yes. My hero.” 

The radio popped on a little too late. 

A large worm of some kind smashed up through the middle of the boat. Its flapping, sloppy jaws crunching metal. 

Just as soon as it appeared it fell back into the dull deep. Foamy ripples and derelict scraps bobbing in the water all that remained. 

“Jack!” Rhys’ voice pulled him from staring dumbly where their boat had been Jaws’d. 

More monsters. Wrapped tightly up in molted skin. Staggering. Stuttering forward. Towards them. They were much taller than the earlier screaming ones. Smell of vomit rolling off of them. 

“Ugh. Those things from earlier grew up!” Rhys stumbled back from their uncanny forms. 

“I think this might be new company, pumpkin.” 

“We gotta get outta here!”

“No shit!” A monster roared for Jack’s blood before charging. It fell into the water as he flung himself aside to the smaller boat. His trembling hands clumsily grabbed for the ignition. He heard the shrieking of the worm find new prey in the fallen monster. Rotten body parts eaten savagely were washed over and slapped the side of their tiny ride. 

This time a, full on raise-the-church-roof, miracle happened. The engine actually started. It took to roaring like the last one. Old and unsure. Its rumble joined the thunder overhead and the procession of should be dead creatures. 

“In ya go!” Jack kicked Rhys backwards. Long legs flailing up. He then gave the little boat a starting kick out. 

“Wait Jack! What about you?!” Rhys reached for him. 

“Keep it going!” Jack dodged another charging monster. He kept shooting looks over his shoulder at the boat gaining momentum. Okay time to make his action star dreams come true. The older man grabbed the monster that was still off balance and pivoted it around. One of the things with a slighter frame gushed a spray of acid out of its moist, front slit. 

Jack kicked off of that. Feeling the twisted spine cracking under the quick pressure. He tripped over his feet, but kept going. He could still reach that boat. He kept sprinting. Ignoring the sounds coming closer. Carried on the increasing storm winds. 

The end of the dock was coming up. Collapsing, moss covered boards leading to a sharp drop into the freezing water. With a few more desperate pumps of his exhausted legs, Jack lept out. Rhys stretched his hand as far as he could to catch him just in case. The older man’s shadow cast over the boat as he was about to land inside. 

Gnarled teeth bit into his side. The worm came surging back. It clamped down hard. He winced. A screaming building up raw in his throat. His hip bone bruising and dislocating. The undulating creature thrashed him to the side. 

Jack’s head was rammed into the metal boat.

Then his world went dark. 

_______

_“Am I a bad person?” Asked the teen to the world while not looking back._

_“You cannot ask that question yet.” The world informed again. But the teen decided he already had his answer._

_______

Gentle waves rocked him. Up and down the sounds carefully cradled him away from slumber. He groaned upon the revelation. A dull throbbing ache at his temples. A burning irritation nibbled across his nose. 

Jack sat up. His heavy skull held in his hand. Ugh, this had to rank as one of the worst headaches in the unabridged history of mankind. 

He blearily cracked an eye open at the sound of thunder. Oh. That dingy, little boat. His feet sat squished together on the rocking floor. Focusing Jack felt the consistent efforts of the engine against his back. This really was a one-seater. 

“It’s nice out here.” Angel said.

Whipping up, he saw his daughter perched on the front bow of the tiny vessel. Primly seated upright. Back perfectly straight. Delicate hands folded properly in her lap. Her hair was in a long, black braid that was blowing serenely with the wind. Splashes of spray brushed against her pale cheeks. 

  
She was here.

She looked older. Mid-twenties maybe? 

“Angel…” But she remained turned away. Her eyes closed. Peaceful, deep breaths. “Angel, come away from the edge.” Slowly she turned her face towards him. Took another deep breath. Opened her eyes. 

There was something off. Against the foggy gloom her blue eyes glowed an eerie hue. Dark circles framed around them. She looked through him. Jack reached out for her. 

“Please baby. You’ll catch cold if you fall in.” His daughter slid her icy hand into his. His large fingers curling and engulfing hers. There was a deeper flush of red to his skin than her soft pink. Gingerly he pulled her onto his knees. 

“I wouldn’t have fallen.” 

“I worry. Even if I know that, I’ll worry.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Told her since puberty hit to stop hiding her beautiful face. “Least I can do as your dad. Besides feed, house, and clothe you.” 

“Dad you have to do those things.” 

“I don’t know… I was raised on seeing children as investments. So tell me, little lady, how much can I expect in return?” He poked at her cheek before she could bat it away. “Care for me when I’m old and definitely still this handsome?”

“That’s not even funny.” God she was adorable when she pouted like that. Straight up inherited his puppy dog eyes. 

Though now those eyes were giving a more haunted, hellhound vibe. Jack just held her tighter. 

“You’ve been asking me that since I was five.” 

“I knew even then that you would. You and me against the world, princess.” She didn’t respond. Looking out over the clouded horizon. 

“Do you… remember the last time we were here? Spent all day at the carnival.” 

“In the sun… In the crowds…” Jack grumbled. 

“You were distracted the entire time.” 

“Wha-? I was not!” 

“You so were.” It was her voice, but Angel was admonishing him like a child. “Looking at your phone. Looking at the crowd. Looking at your phone. Repeat. When your ice cream melted you called it and I quote ‘a son of a tai-”

“Language!” She was jostled away. Sitting on the edge of his knees. “And hey, I’m a busy guy.” 

“Then why did we go?” 

“I uh…” Christ that was a long time ago. “I had that surprise for you!” 

“You won me a stuffed rabbit.” 

“Excuse me, young lady. That was Tommy the Rabbit - your very best friend for years.” 

“It was Robbie, Dad and he wasn’t-” 

“Oh I’m sorry. Robbie the Rabbit. And don’t even _try_ to pull one over me.” He poked her cheek again eliciting a rare giggle. “Baby you took that creepy, pink thing everywhere. I both started to feel bad for it and wondered if you loved it more than me!” 

“He wasn’t creepy!” 

“There was nothing behind the eyes, Angel! Nothing behind the eyes!” There was absolutely zero maturity on that boat of theirs. They were probably lost in the middle of Toluca Lake, but both father and daughter were losing their collective shit over a plush bunny. 

“I… heh.” Angel’s laughter still bubbled out of her like champagne. “I always thought it was an excuse to come home for you.” 

“Here? Oh hell no this place was never my home. Take it from me sometimes you’re not born in your home. Sometimes you need to go and find it.” 

She didn’t say anything at that. Jack felt a prickling sensation creep up his neck. He pressed closer and pushed on quickly. 

“Course, uh that’s one reason you’re lucky. You were born to the perfect home.” 

“Jack.” Oh no no no. That happy, fizzy feeling they had _just_ been sharing was dissolving. Those champagne bubbles souring. 

“You’re happy. I know you’re happy.” 

“Jack…” Her voice warbled low. Twisted echoes under the water needing air. Distantly he felt her body turn foreign in his embrace. Not so little. A skeletal structure reworking itself with pops in time with the building thunder. Skin receding and traces of baby fat melting down off her cheeks, through his clenching fingers, and plopping into the water. 

Could he even put her back together if he tried?

When Angel was born she cried and it broke Jack’s heart. She would love him. Always love him. And in turn… well he always wanted his love to be more consistent than gravity. But he also knew that his love could be more all-consuming than a black hole. 

But he had survived the absence of love. Of someone not giving a shit. The kind of apathy that strangled him slowly. Day by day. Then hour by hour. Till he couldn’t be alone second by second or his thoughts would circle down into weak fantasies. 

‘What’s the point?’

‘What’s the harm?’

‘There’s relief in noise, in others, but there’s just as much a roborant to be found in a gun pressed softly to your temples.’ 

It was better in those times to pop his bedroom window open and run anywhere his legs could take him. Around and round in meaningless, soothing circles. His wayward thoughts focused on how much this running thing sucks. 

When his chest was fit to burst and his popping knees protested to the point of all out anarchy, his thoughts would discover new things to focus on. 

Like how much walking sucks too. 

“Jack?” He did better by his daughter than _she_ ever did. His daughter would never want for anything. He’d pave a road of blood sacrifices to ensure that. He’d taught her to end all of their conversations with ‘I love you’s. That’s what good families did. Practiced it. Integrated it. Enforced it. 

“Jack… Little… tight.” A deep voice gasped. “Breathing… I miss breathing…” 

Jack let his head fall forward and rest between Rhys' shoulder blades. He didn't want to let go of the moment he was just having with his daughter. The increasingly rare pleasure of her company enjoying his the same. 

Now he had a lapful of some stranger who he was rather rapidly developing... something with. Certainly wasn't the same feelings of home and hearth and being with his baby girl elicited. 

Whatever. 

He wrapped his arms around the other man more securely, but let the crushing weight, the desperation, ease. So now he was just a guy in a boat, spooning another guy. Both were trying to survive the hellish fog. 

Still he could keep his eyes closed and enjoy the sense of a human presence with him. The solid weight. The unmistakable form of someone who was the same animal as him. Despite his self-appointed pedestal, Jack had his own personal weaknesses to creature comforts. Up to this point he really only admitted to the _totally_ ironic enjoyment of pretzels. Like really sucky ones. 

When he filled his lungs with a deep, grounding breath Jack took in the stagnant smell of the water surrounding them. The monsters' funk and decay on the back-burner of his senses. The moss clinging to the boat. Motor oil burning in the steadfast engine. 

Though nothing from the man before him. Not cheap detergent or sweat. 

"Hey Kiddo." His voice was gruff. "When did you get here?" 

"I've been here... Jack I was on the boat before you..."

He sniffed. "That right? Huh." His voice was so far away from himself. Jack's mind wandered to the burning on his face - an unpleasant, increasing tickle he couldn't be bothered to scratch. To move his arms away from where they were latched around Rhys' waist. "Did you see her? Did you see my Angel?" 

"Is that me? Am... am I your angel?" Wow the confidence on this kid. 

"Heh. Please. You may have your draws Rhysie, but my Angel is like no other." He leaned further back and enjoyed the engine heat scorch into his spine. "Takes after me. Brain the size of a planet. My looks of course. Wants to save the world." 

"You want to save the world?" 

"I want to save the world in my own way. By saving her. Get it? Cause she is my world." 

“She sounds like a lucky kid.” 

“Yeah, though right now she needs a… reminder of that. Had to increase my watch over her.” At Rhys’ look, the older man continued. “Teenage rebellion.” 

Really she didn’t understand how lucky she had it. The world really didn’t care if you lived or died. People barely cared if you lived or died, and that only applied when you were still a kid. Once you passed that threshold of eighteen then what meager protections fell away. 

“Wait Jack, how do you ‘watch’ her? I get teen shenanigans, but um they still need their freedom.” Clearly not a parent. As if that wasn’t obvious enough already.

“Ya see that’s where you’re dead, dead wrong. That’s exactly when you double down.” Add more surreptitious security, extra cams around the property, and eh why not throw in some tracking apps just to make sure. “Sometimes you need to be the bad guy to be the good guy.” 

"You're being very open about all of this." Why Rhys was pulling away from him was so strange to Jack. Some part of his clouded mind began to thunder against the action. 

"You said that we're a team. So... think of it as a bonding exercise. Next up - trust fall." He sniggered. A drunk chuckle. 

"Okay Jack. We're- we're doing a bonding exercise. So tell me... why did you come back to Silent Hill? You made it out." Rhys wanted to play indignant then. 

"Told you before, right?"

"No."

"Oh. Well you see, my dearest gran-gran has finally decided to do the one thing she was good for and die. And well I'm such a family man I needed to see for myself." 

"I understand wanting to say your goodbyes." Rhys cradled his right shoulder. His thumb tracing meaningful circles around the rolled up sleeve. 

Jack's howling, manic laughter rocked the boat so hard water began to slosh in from the sides. 

"Bahahaha! Oh Rhysie! Oh Rhysie baby! You. Are. A. Riot!" Pearls of tears wet the corners of his eyes. The surprised happiness shot up from his throat and left it in bloody strips. "You are so wrong!" 

"Wha- I do know what it's like!-

"No. No that you think I wanted to wish that bitch a fond farewell. I wanted to see the body for myself. I wanted to see that even a monster like her can become worm's meat." 

"She was your grandmother..." 

"Oh what? You trying to tug heartstrings she ripped out years ago. When little baby Jackie brought home a kitten, then one day when I didn't make my bed she-" 

The air left him. The bloody throat coagulating shut. 

He still couldn't.

After all of these years he still couldn't. His bravado not strong enough to say it out loud. He tried breathing. He stole desperate breaths and stared at the water. Deep and all consuming. Jack didn't learn how to swim until Angel started taking lessons herself. 

"Point is. My old family was shit. Dad either took off or died. Who cares, am I right? Then my mom pawned me off onto her mom." Christ last time he saw her was first year undergrad where he had ended up punching her. Fun family memories. 

"You know that story Little Red Riding Hood, kiddo? Fucked up German shit. Imagine a version where when Little Red finally figured out her grandma wasn't into furry cosplaying and the Woodsman coming in went differently. Imagine the Woodsman being a local CPS dipshit who took a look around at how the Wolf was raising Little Red - and was okay with it." 

"Imagine that Rhysie. Imagine Little Red being locked away in smaller and smaller places because the Wolf was mad when she hit a growth spurt and needed new clothes. Or when the Wolf would use a buzz axe instead of her teeth..." 

Jack's monologue winded down into quiet mutterings. He was drained. Stupid bedtime story. Angel’s favourite was always Rapunzel. Rhys turned to face him. His hand lifting Jack’s head. 

"Someone... should have helped. Neighbours?"

"She was an upstanding member of the community."

"Friends?"

"Come on man. She's just your grandma." 

"Other family!?"

"My mother's brothers raided her house when they heard the news that she was dead. Her own brothers. Stripped the place because they were convinced she had left them out of the will. Joke's on me because that's who didn't get a cent." 

"Jack." 

"I don't need your pity Rhysie." 

"No, I-" He furrowed his brows. His hand now tracing absently along Jack's jawline. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that happened to you. If no one ever said that to you before, I wanted to make sure you heard it at least once." 

"Don't be sorry, pumpkin. That's just what made me who I am. I came out of that fire stronger than a diamond." His grin cut sharp. "I know how to take care of myself. I know never to trust any of those freakin' bandits who claim to be family. I know all sorts of things." 

"Heck. I did try once." Christ that was a long time ago. "Angel kept asking about other family. And... well... the Hag of Silent Hill did live like half an hour away. Maybe... I don't know what." The kindness of his late wife was admirable after everything that had happened. Tried to instill some part of it into him. Had urged him to rekindle old flames. To extend half an olive branch. 

For his sake, she argued. 

For Angel's sake, he reasoned. 

"We went to this seasonal carnival. Huge tourist trap. Saw like five people get their wallets lifted. I had even called her before we went. Angel was so excited when I said I had a surprise for her - we were some of the first dopes to the place..." He swallowed something down. It settled hard in his stomach. "Can't say I didn't try. She never showed. Can you believe that? Best thing this world ever made and that aging slut didn't want anything to do with her." 

"Something could have come up. Did you go by her house?" At this Jack sneered. 

"Didn't need to. She said it to her when she showed up unannounced to our wedding." They had just found out that Angel was more than a glimmer in their eyes. His wife had that fabled pregnant glow about her then. Absolutely a goddess in the longest white veil he could afford (to rent) at the time. 

Spent the entire ceremony making eyes at each other and trying not to giggle at the whole thing. Somehow it was only up there in front of a few sparse friends and... yeah pretty much only her side of the family that they realised they didn't even need a wedding ceremony. 

He loved that they had made that mistake together. She had made a fool out of him in love and he'd gladly return to being a joke if it meant one more day of being together. 

"Pointed to my wife's stomach and said 'I want nothing to do with that thing!' then she left. That was the last time I saw her, cupcake." Really put a damper on the reception. 

"She... okay yeah, she was definitely a monster. Screw her!" 

"You said it! Screw her!" 

"Screw! Her!" 

Jack and Rhys shouted out at the foggy horizon. A small island with pine trees stood strictly as they passed it. The storm was almost upon them now. The branches starting to snap under the wind's might. The men could pretend it was from the force of their crowing. 

"I was right about you, sugar. You do have your draws." 

"Oh thank you every so much Mr. Jack sir." Rhys added on a demure affectation. Sashaying his shoulders. The empty sleeve a tassel. 

"I bet you hate her though." Jack's eyes darted up. The scene suddenly flipped. Rhys was so much colder than before. His blue eye seeing past him. He was still sitting pretty on Jack's lap, but he looked far, far away. 

"Excuse me." His voice dropped low. Lower and deeper than the water they were on. 

"You hate her." Rhys stated again. Like he was remarking on a new haircut. "She became your whole world because she killed the old one." 

The clouded eye flashed in the wake of lightning cracking above them. 

"Am I right, John?" 

Jack was out of his seat and gripping the front of Rhys' shirt before he knew it. Kid's expression still didn't change. Same disinterest. 

"Where the fuck did you hear that name?" 

"It's yours. It's your name." 

"The hell it is." 

"It's okay." Rhys played swirled his index finger on the back of Jack's hand. He skittered his long, spider-like fingers up his hairy forearm. "It suits you." 

"Shut. up." His hands wandered up to wrap around Rhys' slim throat. His blood roared in his ears. It pumped boiling hot. An ache from clenching his jaw tight. "You shut up!" 

"That's why you keep her locked away. That's why you had her on all those meds. Some part of you must have known, John that they were carcinogens before the doctors told you." Rhys leaned his head back. Exposing his neck further. Seemingly delighted by the current events. "Angel had to be yours if you crippled her." 

"That's not true!" Jack loomed over the younger man now. Openly panting like a wolf before attacking. Waves were picking up, higher and higher. "I would never do that! I'd never hurt her! I'd never lay a hand on her! I'm not like-!" 

"Oh John." This version of Rhys cooed. His index finger traced the apple of Jack's cheekbone. "Is that really the only way to hurt her? You know that's not the only sin a parent can do to their child." 

Jack cried. He screamed. He thrust Rhys' head under the water. Still the so called man in his clutches remained calm. That back part of his mind, that distant thunder, was now mixing with the real and very present storm. A part of him that giggled after getting the phone call about his grandmother was goading him on further. To see how long until the bubbles stopped. 

Rhys' hand began to flail and slap the upper part of Jack's arm. 

He wrenched him back up. Hesitating for only a moment more. 

"Jack! Jack, I'm sorry! That wasn't!-" 

"Oh don't even, Rhysie." He had to brace his foot against the edge of the small boat with it rocking it so much. Rhys wasn't helping by trembling. 

"No really. Please believe me!" 

"Oh I believe you, pumpkin pants. You think you can spew whatever at me and get away with it. Then shiver pathetically enough to be forgiven? Oh please Mr. Jack sir! I'll be ever so good if you save me since I'm so useless!" He ticked his voice up to a false equivalent to Rhys' before ending on a bite. 

"It wasn't me who said that! It was th-" Rhys' throat seized up. He couldn't get anything out. "-ngh! Argh! It wasn't me! Jack I'm trying to help you!" 

"By insulting me? How's that fit into helping me?" At least Jack had pulled Rhys back fully into the boat. For now. 

"You're not well. You need help. I mean look at your face-" 

"What's wrong with my face?!" He didn't let the younger man answer. Jack dropped down to the boat’s side. 

The murky waters were an incoherent mirror. He didn't need the full picture to see it. 

It... it was back. That scar was back. 

Still bleeding and sizzling. Skin bubbling and crisping along the edges. 

Jack's fingers gripped his face. Little, curved imprints from his fingernails digging deep. Almost as deep as that wound across the bridge of his nose. The vaulted, inverted V-shape slicing through something he was so proud of. 

_She_ had ruined him. It was _her_. Held him down. Ignored his screaming. The neighbours ignored his screaming. The town turning deaf to his begging. His lungs turning inside out with pleading. Someone. Somewhere. Had to have heard him. 

His tears fizzled into wisps of steam from his right eye afterwards. His left more concerned with losing blood. 

Didn't bother to pack after that. Knowing his grandma _she_ had doused his old room in lighter fluid, lit a match, said a prayer, then torched his old room to the fuckin' floorboards. He didn't need it. At the time, all he needed was to keep moving his sandbag legs. 

His old hiking paths just wound him back into town. All the roads seemingly returning to Silent Hill. 

He wept. 

Eventually he had trudged far enough to accidentally stumble across the highway. When his future wife's car had hit him, the pain was finally quieted to blissful unconsciousness. She had been there by his bed later. Holding his hand and checking his bandages frequently. It was the first time that Jack had believed in angels. He even told her. First words out of his chapped lips. A drug-fueled, but sincere, pick up line. Even though it was more of a pathetic croaking, she seemed to understand. 

He came back to the water mocking him. To it telling him the truth. To what this town and that little fucker had- 

Jack shot back up. Rain was pouring down. Positively frozen needles pelting down and drenching him. They stung down to his quaking bones. 

"What did you do to me?!" 

"I didn't do that!" 

He jabbed a finger at Rhys who held up his only hand in defense. 

"Stay away from me!" But there was no where for Rhys to go but overboard. His gangly legs hit the front bow and tripped over. It could have been a cry of thunder or the radio coming on that would be the last thing he would hear. 

Then he was in Jack's arms. His mood flipped. A hollowed out soul. Jack's large hands cradling him. Taking inventory Rhys' soaked frame. Right hand curling firm around the back of his skull, wet locks tangling between the older man's fingers. Supported by the left hand locked tight on Rhys' waist. He blinked owlishly at Jack. 

"Don't leave me Rhys. Don't. Not here. I can't be alone here." He felt a hesitant hand rest on his hunched shoulder. "I can't be with my baby girl until this is over. It'll be better then. Gone and buried. So you're..." He licked his lips. 

"You're all I got right now, Rhysie." 

That was the fucking truth, wasn't it. The shore was slowly coming into focus. The storm had finally come after teasing all day. Their little sorry excuse for a boat still fighting against what the lake was dishing out. 

He was a man who loved his daughter and grieved for his wife. He was the programming director of a minor branch at his company. He was, according to his ex, the "bitchiest verse in the universe". 

Yet in the moment, in the storm, in that sorry excuse for a boat, he was reduced to less than that clinging to Rhys. Whose hold on his shoulder became more anchored. He was lead back down. Even sitting down he refused to relinquish his find. Angel was his world sure. Now Rhys was a shining, shooting star. A brief respite in the fog cursed town. 

"I'm sor... Kiddo, I didn't mean to yell earlier. It just hurts so much." 

Rhys didn't say anything. Merely brushed the sopping strands on Jack's forehead away. 

"I didn't..." How could this be happening? Jack felt tilted. The touch of Rhys grounding him to the correct direction of gravity, but he could easily slip away. Shatter through the layers of atmosphere till an oxygenless void, somehow colder than he felt now, would eat him whole. His heart sought out the young man's pulse to guide it. 

"Jack. You have to know. About this place." 

"You won't leave me, will you?" Rhys sighed and it broke Jack's heart. 

"Jack, I-" 

Rhys was dragged away from him. 

One of those roaring, lurching monsters surged from below. Two worms sunk their jaws into Rhys' body. A crimson stain mixed quickly under the rain's efforts. Rhys himself slowly looked back up to Jack. His eyes wide and not understanding. He said something. His lips moved. Whatever he had said was stolen by the wind. 

Jack launched forward to tear the beasts off of him in time for the storm to reach its zenith. A momentous wave curled up over them. Then they were plunged under water. 

Already the older man's body screamed for air. 

There wasn't an up. Down was impossible. His hands grasping around trying to find the breach in the water's hold. Desperately he kicked his legs out. The frantic rhythm useless against the current's pull. 

Something colder than the water he was dying in, brushed the tips of his fingers. 

Jack looked down. Through the gloom and blur of lake water, he saw Rhys was just as desperate as he was. Eyes open and begging. The monsters were holding on just as tight as before. He reached out in turn to save him. Pull him up even if for a brief respite of air. 

He was tossed up onto the shore like a ragdoll. 

In a dismal instant, Jack was back on his unsteady feet and clawing his way back to the water’s edge. The storm was drifting away far sooner than it had arrived. 

“Rhys!” No answer. “Come on, buddy! Answer me!” Still nothing and no one. 

The brief energy in his bones faded. All at once the beach’s rocks were digging uncomfortably into his knees. A light brown radio washed up to him. 

“Ja--? --ck, I’- st--l -ere! This to-- won-- --t -- -ie! Yo-’-- s-- -- so--! Ke-p --in-! Don’- ---ve --!” 

The tinny voice ebbed away as the waterlogged wires couldn’t take anymore. Jack brushed away pebbles before picking it up. It stayed cradled by his heart. With the water behind him, Jack turned towards Old Town Silent Hill. 

As he started up towards the road, the fog settled in heavier. 


	3. What Makes A Monster and What Makes a Man?

_“Am I a bad person?” Asked the young man to the world while falling in love._

_“You cannot ask that question yet.” The world informed once more. But the young man decided he already had his answer._

______________________________________________________

A war-time siren blares and shakes the heavy air.

He doesn’t feel anything. The static from the now dead radio has infected him. Jack still wants the same things - sign legal papers and get back to his daughter. Heck, he even wants new things - find Rhys if possible. It’s now distant though. 

The wants and feelings drowning lost in his odd headspace. He takes in his plodding footfalls, the dreary air, the fact the road appears to be bleeding and sinking deeper into a single focal point path, and… just adds those elements to the layers of mental static. Vaguely he knows that he wants to want himself back to normal. Jack is not a passive person. Intimately aware of the fact that he feels so strongly most of the time that his body can’t seem to contain it. 

Without Rhys to look after or fear to manage, progress has been made. Lakeview Hotel is long behind him. Old Town firmly upon him. Or rather the nightmare version of Old Town. 

It’s not just empty shops and abandoned alleyways. Now the ghost town has become very real. 

People he kinda remembers from so long ago float transparent about everywhere. Dusty, forlorn silks going through the motions of day to day. They disappear when he faces them head on. His mutilated left eye sees them most clearly. It’s easy enough to shove down what that implies. Also no more monsters. 

Okay that’s a lie. 

There were still monsters, but different. The tall, shambling ones frothing with acidic spit and hate were absent. Thank whatever it may concern that those teething worms were water based. And those mouthy, little ones avoided him. Wailing plaintively elsewhere probably better. 

His old school fades behind him soon enough. Just as quickly the fog devours the rest of the town. Its patient hunger leaves only Jack, the blood encrusted road ahead, the forest (dark, ever so dark) to his left and… if his buzzing brain can remember right… a modest cottage at the end of the lane. 

It’s almost over then. What he’s wanted, wanted for so long, will be his soon enough. He could delay. Wander about that ever so dark forest. Or turn back and see if the fog will take him too. 

Because getting what he wants will be the end. And… 

That honestly terrifies him. 

But the fog has yet to claim him, even with him standing still at the town’s last crossroads baiting it. And when he gazes into that sickly verdant place, Jack swears he sees Angel hanging by her neck off every tree. 

His naive legs beg for movement. To fly over there. To her. All of hers. (Save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her, save her,)

His jaded lungs can’t though. Once again, like on the hiking paths, at the carnival, on that boat, and now - he can’t breath. 

A bone deep panic is gripping him. It feels tangibly real as it manifests in iron bands around his heart. (He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t,)

“Son of a taint I can’t keep going like this.” He eventually gasps. This is his reality now. No more checking his trusted nanny cams. Dark and hungry waves swallowed up his phone. His sweaty bangs flopping out of his favoured coif style and sticking to the tacky blood across his face. Colours are overlaying. Shifting, but never truly blending.

Jack still hears it though his panting. He’s not better. Still a horrible dullness sludging stubborn against panic whipping his carbon-dioxide exchange into a spine twisting misery. 

But he does still hear it. 

Soft. 

Plaintive. 

Wrenching cries harmonising with an animal clearing in pain. Panting in pained puffs. Where the organic system can’t keep up with it all. Where what breath the creature does have is best used to beg. 

Beg for the pain to stop. 

Beg to die. 

  
Beg for someone to be by its side so it can pretend that its whole life wasn’t spent in isolation. Jack supposes he could swing that even as wrung dry as he is. Stiltedly standing in the low rut before his last street. After all, it might be terribly rude to ignore it. Because after all -

It is calling his name. 

“Jack? Jack! Jack please!” A woeful set of soundwaves carves a new sulcus slowly into his brain. Sawing carelessly with a rusted butterknife. 

So already he’s moving. Racing to her. This voice that delay the inevitable. Books it without a second thought or wind to his sails. The distant pain from going and _going_ and going a pale incentive compared to just getting to her. For once Jack could get a second chance to do the right thing on the first try. He can dream right? 

With a jolt he leaps out of the bloody rut carved into the street. Jack races on. Ignoring the ghosts and the long exhaustion in his bones. Ignoring all that and more he breaks through the double doors of the town’s clinic.

He spins around, searching the lobby. More monsters. New monsters. Sickly, faceless nurses stand between him and the stairwell. 

Because at this point he’s not gonna trust the life. Being in a small, steel box seems like a bad move right now. 

Jack sucks in a breath before diving in. His oppositions waste no time lunging for him. So he in turn wastes nothing in responding. 

Their soft, bulbous heads cave in as he drives his fist into them. An audible pop rings out each time. A mouldy splatter and an abused corpse remained. 

He swiftly cracked his way through. Then it’s through the rusted door and up the stairs two at a time. 

Up and up. 

Her voice getting clearer the whole time. 

Her crying louder. Hoarse sobs like it’s been happening for hours. His heart beats more desperately from that alone. 

Finally (he took long enough, he should have been faster, should have been _there_ in the first place) Jack reaches the fourth floor. 

His heaves, panting. Catching what little reprieve and breath then charges on. His conscious mind not caring that this place looks more like an abandoned warehouse than a sterile maternity ward. 

Closer and closer. Jack races towards the door at the end of the hall, but further and further the hallway stretches on. Whatever material making up this concrete nightmare floor stretches too thin and the breathless desperate man feels it give under him. 

It sways and undulates before collapsing. He continues to try and move forward. To find purchase for his feet. To keep trying to reach that door. Jack can hear her just on the other side. And he can’t be too late. Not this time. 

He can’t, Jack repeats. Then throws open the door. 

He doesn’t know if all of him really believed that his late wife was somehow in labour with their Angel through that door. But whatever he had been expecting - it hadn’t been this. 

_This_ being a monster that couldn’t fit on the hospital bed. What remains of the bed is crushed beneath… this… Utterly splintered and unsupportive. The once pristine sheets ragged and bloody over its form. From the flopping about Jack notes that it’s obviously not very mobile. Over the two meters tall he guesses. Its screams fill the room it’s in to bursting. The uncanny human form writhes, clearly in pain. Sweaty torso rocking back and forth without the support of any arms. Legs hiked up. 

Horrid, wet crying comes from a rotting slit in between. The split is large and grotesque, pulsing. Occasionally the cries are interrupted by corrosive acid and rotten blood (a dreary, chocolate brown speckled with crimson) froths out. 

Jack pukes when a small hand flails out to swipe and grab anything nearby. 

When the door closes and his back hits it on the outside the two sounds ring out as final knolls to Jack’s ears. 

Heh. So he had been right. He swipes the bottom of his shirt over his mouth. There really aren’t second chances. Monsters all about leave no room for such things. 

The industry floor puffs up dirt when his body slumps upon it. Jack hangs his head between his knees. Now the action-star-hero he dreams to be would get right back up and go in there and do more than run away. 

Jack’s not that guy though. He doesn’t feel like he can kick the door down and save the day. Maybe though. 

Maybe he can start by just going back inside. 

So he finds his spine cowering at the pit of his now empty stomach, stands taller than he feels and does that. 

“Not a bad look for me.” Rhys turns around sporting a bowler hat. “Don’t you agree, Jack?” 

What. 

No seriously, what? 

Yeah his jaw dropped open. Downright amazed that the other man was here. Completely agog and he doesn’t care how dumb he looks. 

“What.” He replies. Rhys continues to pose. Winking. Cheeky grin with a secret behind it. 

“Next to socks, hats really are an underappreciated part of a gentleman’s wardrobe.” Another twirl. The younger man was also now wearing a bright yellow tank top. His missing arm exposed. An elaborate landscape of scar tissue. Criss crossing lines faded white against Rhys’ pale skin. “Maybe not dashing, but certainly attractive I believe, eh handsome?” 

He was right. Jack had long held the belief (back by several hat wearing exes) that merely wearing something on your head was a smart fashion-forward choice adding at least three points on the basic hotness scale. 

But. 

“Rhys you died.” The older man had never had to break such news before. 

The should-be dead man snorted. “Okay a little hat hair is not gonna kill me Jack.”He paused to wink at Jack from over his shoulder. He turned back to the mirror. "Besides I got this cute little number to help with that.” Rhys continued to practice expressions in the mirror.

“On the boat.” The older man began to circle the younger one. Keeping a wary eye on the room. Still dilapidated. Good for it. 

“Hmm? Oh that was close.” He ran his hand through his soft looking auburn locks. 

Had it been close? Jack furrowed his brow. He remembered Rhys taken from him. _Dragged_ from him. The cold, begging touch prickled at the edge of his fingers as he really did try to save him, but in the end, like many other times, could do nothing and - 

Rhys tossed the hat away. A disgusting amount of dust flew up where it landed. Jack idly felt the outline of the of his handgun as this… whatever he was approached. His heartbeat echoed loud. Thunderous in time with Rhys’ springy steps. 

There had been something off about this guy since Jack had found him. Something apart from the random hat, different clothes, dilapidated horrorshow room, sultry attitude, and oh yeah, being miraculously alive! 

His eye. Mr. Freaky Eye. That Vulture Eye. 

That had changed. 

Sickly, pungent yellow. Somewhere between mustard gas and a bad Summer day with the sun sticking his shirt miserably to him like a second chafing skin. 

Then the guy was right in front of him. Considered Jack a moment. Really looking cute tilting his head to one side despite having one eye look the colour of dried mud and the other glimmering the same hue as pus. 

When Jack’s pushed into a chair, he adds it as another detail, to the vague static still infecting his head, as something else he didn’t see before. 

Now with the more clear height advantage Rhys looked pleased. He braced his one hand on the back of the chair. Even with him looming so close Jack still couldn’t pick up any scent from him. His hindbrain bothered by there being nothing to note, an essential piece to the senses absent. 

“Mmm.” Rhys hummed in the back of his throat. “You look tired.” 

“It maybe hard to believe, cupcake, but it’s kinda hard to relax in this town.” He batted the little creep’s hand away. 

“That’s too bad.” Not picking up the hint Rhys thumbed where the heavy bags hanging off his eyes intersected the scar that was slowly crusting around the edges. “You should feel right at home.” 

“What are you?” 

“Yours. Never doubt that. I’m here because of you.” His hand slid down Jack’s chest purposefully. A sharp edge to his coquettish grin. “And since this is your homecoming…” Rhys slid down to his knees. “I should give you quite the thank you.” 

“Get - !”

“You off? Of course.” He finished with a wink. Without another word Rhys pulled off his tank top and jeans. A pair of rather tight looking boxer-briefs stayed on. They were a distractingly cute shade of cranberry red. 

Jack’s head rumbled with monstrous static. It roared back up in tumultuous waves. Vibrating out to his limbs leaving them slack at his side. It roared and clawed into every crevice - there was very little room in Jack’s body for Jack. He was being pushed out through his own eye sockets. 

Rhys undid the zipper to Jack’s jeans. That he was still coherent enough to process. With another swift motion of his hand, the kneeling fiend had yanked the jeans and boxers down. Just enough for him to start working the older man’s cock without any material barriers. 

He pressed his palm up slowly. Dragging the velvety skin and foreskin back. His fingers traced the blood vessels along Jack’s shaft. Then just as slowly up to the root surrounded by dark curls, Rhys dragged his palm down. 

Rhys braced his right shoulder stump against Jack’s leg before leaning in closer. His smile never changed. His eye remained without a spark to them. 

He lifted and began pumping the older man’s dick. Working the pressure between too tight and lax. Jack heard, distantly (still so distant from his own body while still trapped inside it) his panting fill up the room. His skin grew hot. Too hot. 

“Relax.” Rhys rolled the older man’s balls between his thumb and forefinger. “Just fall into it.” Jack threw his head back as a hot tongue laved over his cock. It truly took in the salty-heated skin. Retracing over those blood vessels. Then dipping down to tease the weeping slit. A set of full lips kissed at the base. 

Perfectly cute cupid’s bow brushed up against his lower naval. A giddy trill. The mop of hair darker. The voice higher, cruel. 

“You were always _so_ good at that. Falling into the lap of anyone who gave you positive attention.” Jack lurched at that voice. 

Rhys was gone. 

Freaking _Moxxi_ , first girl he hooked up with after his wife was gone… was instead sucking down his cock instead. One night at her bar was the one time and _one freaking mistake_. She smiled at his wide eyes. Playfully sucked twice. The sound, spit-soaked, sloppily poured up his spine. 

He slammed his eyes shut and willed the static from his hands to grip the side of her head. The sweaty, dark strands tangled around his fingers. A broken moan. 

Jack cracked his eyes open. Through the slivers Rhys and his puffy lips pulled against the hold. His breath just as laboured as Jack’s. His raging erection still stiff between them. 

“Rhys… come on -” But instead he broke forward through the grip. He shakily mouthed at Jack’s dick. The precome letting it slide along his cheek. He finally did succeed to pull it back into his mouth. His creepy little eyes slid close. Pure rapture. 

Some static bubbled out and made itself comfortable as a grainy film on top of his skin. Still some more continued on. Matching the rise and fall to Jack’s strained pants. Cut into rakish lines. He hissed. Pulled away. 

“Why else would you pump a parasite into the first woman to give you a second glance?” Sharp, purple nails cut rakish lines. Stark red against his sweaty skin. 

Rhys is still there. Nursing the phallus further into his mouth. The tip beginning to tickle the back of his throat. 

But now _Nisha_ , most recent off-again on-again mistake, is draped over his shoulders. Her cowboy hat eschewed. 

“Couldn’t take going back to that loneliness. Could you, Jackie boy? Couldn’t do it honest though. Not your style.” He twitches when her tongue smoothly licks up the shell of his ear. 

No. 

He pull Rhys completely on his cock. The younger man giving a broken, choked cough at the clear, aching stretch of his jaw. 

“Come on. Harder Rhysie. Harder.” Jack husked. He hiked his hips up. Let himself fall. Fall into the building rhythm with Rhys bobbing his head. Fall away from the hands set patient on his shoulders. The calm figure at his back. 

It was a better distraction to listen to skin gliding along skin. 

Gasping. 

Moaning. 

Panting. 

Mindless babbling to urge Rhys on. 

“You said that I hurt you, Jack.” He told that dead voice to shut up. “That your scar was my fault…” 

That was… not entirely true. Lie by omission at worst. He could have won a date without… implying certain things. It’s just best to hedge his bets. 

Besides it’s not like having Angel ki- 

Besides it’s not like she died believing -

He lurched forward. Buried himself as deep as he could with stuttering hips into Rhys’ burning mouth. Jack groaned low and loud. His orgasm emptying both the foul contagion of static and his trapped thoughts. 

Rhys pushed away. His appearance absolutely wrecked. He might want that bowler hat after all with the state of his copper-coloured hair being completely in disarray. 

Jack slumps boneless in the chair. 

Rhys licks his lips shiny and clean. Raises then straddles Jack’s lap. Running his hand through Jack’s hair. 

“Are you real?” Jack’s voice reduced to gravel.

“As real as you want me to be.” Rhys curled further into Jack’s lap. Cradling his face. “Better than a dream come true.”

“But are you real?”

“Same answer. Really Jack whatever you want. What you think you deserve.” Rhys trailed clever fingers across Jack’s chest. “If you want me helpless then I’m absolutely at your mercy. You want me to bite back then my teeth are ready. Your ex? A tool to use? Your dead wife? All of that and more. Just for you.”

“Rhysie what I want and deserve is a god damn answer!” He snapped.

“I’m yours.” The body in Jack’s lap fluttered kisses about his face and neck. “You once said you saw a little bit of yourself in me. Though ‘little’ may not be fair.” He cupped Jack through his jeans. 

Like that was gonna happen again anytime soon. 

“Alright then Rhysie. Then what I want is some answers.” Jack leaned in. “Why the ever loving _fuck_ is this happening to me? I don’t think I deserve this.” 

Rhys wasn’t looking at him. Tilting his head up and staring blankly above Jack’s head. 

“Tick tock here, Kiddo.” He tugged at one of the strings attached to Rhys’ body. Wait strings? 

“How do you believe in second chances?” Rhys’ voice didn’t sound like it was coming from him. It was tinny murmuring eeking out and echoing from somewhere distant. An underlying mechanical noise. “Do you move on or do you face the past?” 

That voice was mournful while the face remained passive. The eyes lit up differently than before. Not fire and annoyance. More ghost lights betwixt the fog. And Jack had a lot of experience lately differentiating the two. 

The mechanical noise, whirring and sharp, grew louder. Jack followed the odd strings up and saw what Rhys could before now. 

It was _her._

__

[Art](https://nastiibruja.tumblr.com/post/185993661643/nastiibruja-my-piece-for-the-rhack-big-bang-my) by nastiibruja [tumblr](https://nastiibruja.tumblr.com/) [twitter](https://twitter.com/nastiibruja)

_She_ was like a dense cluster of malignant cancer. Smelled of black mould and expired rosewater perfume. Where should be a face or even a head really was a very long leather mouth. Old horse teeth set along the puckered, low-hanging edge. Talcum powder and rot was heaved out on every heaving exhale. 

_Her_ … no way around it, _her_ favourite disciplinary tool had taken over where the crone’s left hand should be. Wrapped loosely in blood swaths of cloth. It whirred and flexed. Rearing up and bobbing down.. The room’s meager light glinting off the metal teeth. He still remembered what they felt like chewing on his back like a dog toy. 

Sagging sets of about four breasts quivered gelatinous. A wet slap against the molted leather body they hung from. Jack really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but the lower ones that bled back into the main cluster and the industrial wall oozed small rivulets of pale green. 

The face, if there was an elongated face wrapped underneath that leathery fabric, considered him. Considered his body, so much smaller than _her_ , with a cock of its head. 

It seemed after all this time _she_ still felt nothing for him. A pervasive apathy. 

_She_ tugged _her_ other hand. A kind of glove-hand with the fingers fused together. Jack grabbed at Rhys when those strings lifted him up. And away. 

“Rhys?” Not now. He can’t be left alone with _her_. 

That didn’t stop the strings. They were attached firmly to the younger man’s body. An old, wooden cross hanging off of Rhys’ hips sealed the deal. More of him slipped through Jack’s fingers. The whirring was building up to a fever pitch. 

Rhys brushed his icy fingers that still didn’t smell of him, but of Jack’s release and dust, across the apple of Jack’s cheekbone. 

“Jack.” The first time that fire dare flicker in his eyes - past the infected yellow and dried mud colour - and forced out - “Mirror.” 

Yanked high above to the dark ceiling and was soon gone in the gloom. _She_ roared. A delighted cutting edge to it. Spit flying from the horse teeth. Whirred the buzz axe arm up before raising it to strike. 

“I am so sick of this!” Jack roared back at _her_. And despite the knobbly knees, nausea, and some panicked part of his mind screaming at himself of ‘ _what are you doing stop’_ … it. felt. great! 

He rolled off the chair. The buzz axe splintering it scant moments after. Jack gripped his handgun and pointed it where _her_ eyes should be. Fired two rounds where he really really hoped they got lodged in the supposed sockets. 

_She_ roared in rebuttal and the glove hand tore at _her_ pained face. Strips of the leather gave way in bloody chunks. 

Jack took this time and legged it the other direction. The mirror still hung on the far wall. His sweaty, haggard appearance greeted him in its dull reflective surface. And as he slammed his fist cracking that surface thinking ‘this one’s for Rhys you rotten bitch’, Jack also thought he never looked better. 

He flung a bloody shard back at _her._ The large form easily stretching across the room. The glove-hand, still with the large swinging rosary and sans the younger man, reached for him. The shard wedged itself right in _her_ sickly palm. 

Just as quickly the hand wrenched away. Flung up from the pain as the tiny bit of mirror was shaken free. 

Jack’s back pressed up against the mirror still barely hanging on the wall. His mind turned over itself. Okay now what? He had made it to the mirror and only ended up giving the problem a splinter. Plus now he was down to his final two bullets. 

The mirror fell off the wall. Jack turned and his eyes widened upon seeing inside. A long cattle prod rested in the cabinet next to a full clip of bullets. 

Oh yeah. He could work with this. 

He grabbed both and shot his remaining loaded bullets. Then he dove to the other side of the room. Before the monstrous hag could reach him, Jack charged the cattle prod up as far as it would go. The power thrumming under his fingers. Now he was wielding the storm and he was gonna use it. 

When he struck that cancerous cluster _her_ shriek broke open the windows. Fog poured in. Filled every crevice and passively rolled at his feet. 

“Round two, gran-gran!” Jack declared. His old, empty clip now discarded and his gun reloaded. That long leather face reared above him. He saw his opportunity as the glimmer of blue and green peeked out from far inside. 

Years ago, when he had run home scared and very small, she as the legal stalwart guardian she was laughed at his trembling. Both eyes were alight in hilarity. One deep baby blue and the other a pale green. He had seen the paltry collection of family photos available around the house. He had known that only one other person shared his features. And she… 

Bullets split open those eyes. Aqueous humour flying out with the agonised flare of spittle. And Jack didn’t stop. 

Once again the glove-hand was flung up to the high, dark ceiling. This time Jack grabbed a hold and lived his action-star-hero dreams. Riding up high above. His upper arms taunt in strain to keep his hold. 

Steel rafters and pulsing red tendrils dripping pale green were his only welcome. The older balanced on whatever precarious edge he could. Looking around, but he was alone. 

“Rhys!” No answer, but his echo. “Come on, Rhysie! Answer me!” Still nothing, but the monster below and no one, but himself. 

The glove-hand continued to swipe and reach for him. Rosary flailing wildly. It swept fog up and about. A resonant, hollow sound as it banged the walls. 

From here Jack could survey it all. The thrashing. The loose skin thrown off. The bloody swaths of cloth wrapped around a buzz axe chomping at the bit to relive the glory days. 

And… he didn’t feel like he thought he would. 

She… yeah she was just that. Nothing special or denoting any sort of momentous standing. Where he stood high above, she seemed so small. Despite the flailing, that gummy textured right hand of hers couldn’t actually touch him. Came close, his fear admitted, but only that. It wasn’t a pity or sadness for her. 

He honestly didn't know how to describe his feelings. To the turbulent ache burning of his heart throwing him off balance up above in the gloom. In part regret. Another part shame. More to the urge to do something more than her. Even if it didn’t make sense to himself. 

Raising Angel was doing something more than her. Falling in love once, too young to know how. Then falling in love again, old enough to know better but his withered heart having rejected the lessons. 

In the end, his heart and mind settled on one thing. It was still beyond time to kill and bury her. Both the memory of her and the punishing monster riled up into a tantrum before him. 

Later he could try digging up the undisturbed soil of his psyche. To try and unbury the remains of John from his hideaway grave. 

“You’ve stolen enough from me.” Jack’s voice a deadly calm. The thunder - quiet, but all encompassing even at a distance. A storm threatening to break overhead. “It’s time for you to die.” 

His handgun let off smoke after he unloaded every remaining bullet at his disposal. Threw the empty weapon for good measure. Really pushed the cattle prod to its limits. 

Then leapt off. 

He pierced deep into that leather face. Speared deep and watched the sparking end of the cattle prod disappear into a bloody wound. Lodged his own feet in to push it harder while screaming. 

A breath.

A stillness. 

Her entire body shuddered in little twitches under the surging current. She made a small, old sound that creaked through her horse teeth. With a sad slap, her giant arms fell limp to the sides. The rest of her came soon after. 

Taking Jack with her. 

“Son of taint. Son of a taint. Son of a tai-” He pulled at his legs, but they remained wedged. Twisted whatever way he could as the ground fast approached. And just in time for both of them to hit the hard industrial flooring, Jack finally pulled one leg free. 

Then his head smashed against the ground. A bolt of pain lanced down his spine. 

Beyond his closing eyelids he could feel the fog roll in deeper and his world go white. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

There was a man. As he woke, there was a rather young man. This man was like twenty-eight at most. Some baby fat still clinging to his high cheekbones. He was sitting on a metal bench. Heavy bags hung dark and loose from his closed eyes. His one arm tapping an unsteady rhythm on his bouncing knee. A flicker of where a right arm should be came in and out between motions of running the phantom limb through his hair. 

Jack walked up, hands in the pockets of his jeans, the picture of casual. 

“Hey there, cupcake.” The man stilled all but his bouncing leg. Heaved a put upon sigh. Opened his eyes. 

Neither eye had an iris. Just a white sclera. 

“Hey Jack.” Rhys wasn’t sparing a glance around him. Not like there was much to look at in this void of mist and shifting tones of grey. Jack could feel where the pupils should be staring him down. Searching for something. “Welcome to here.” 

“Very exciting. Now how do we leave?” At this the younger man threw his head back and laughed like he hadn’t heard such a good joke in _ages_. 

“Oh my gosh! You- you make it sound so easy!” He braced against his knees in the aftershocks of laughter. Continued snickering even as he stood up. 

When he saw Jack’s pursed lips and hands on his hips, Rhys did cover his grin with his hand. 

“Sorry, inside joke. You had to be there. Oh wait! Now you are!” He finished with a one handed version of jazz hands. 

“Hold up. So we’re stuck stuck?” Jack buried his face in his hands at Rhys nodding. “Ugh and where are we anyway?” 

“Hell. Or rather Hell Light. None of the demons and all the suffering.” 

“And like, what you live here?” At this Rhys purposely traced his fingers around his right shoulder. 

“Well for now. Before the town decides that I will be no more.” 

“It’s so… pathetic. One second you’re here and a person then the next… you’re not… anything.” He shrugged. Began to pace in front of Jack. “You won’t understand what it’s like if you’ve never been there.” 

“I’ve been there now.” Jack rebutted defensively. 

“You haven’t though.” Rhys turned those colourless eyes on him. The line of his brow hard. “You haven’t been _there_ there so you don’t know! There’s… there’s nothing there. In that other place. All that’s there is that fog and me when it wants me to be. Whoever it wants me to be.” His voice cracked. Jack caught him by the shoulders when he stumbled forward. Trembling like he’s been cold for _ages_. 

“I’m scared Jack. But I want to be because that means that I’m something more than the town wants me to be. I’m closer to _being_ myself than ever. Please don’t make me lose- please don’t take that away from me Jack! I can’t go back to nothing! Not there Jack! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m _scared_!” 

“Rhysie it’s okay!” He pulled the younger man forward and wrapped his arms in a tight embrace around him. Rhys’ long fingers clung to the back of Jack’s shirt. “I’m here now.” 

“You are here.” His voice a quiet, watery admittance. “So I get to be here. So I don’t care how I’m used if I still get to be here.” 

“I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but you really need higher standards of living.” Rhys pulled back till the tip of his nose brushed Jack’s. 

“If this is all I get then I don’t care. I’m forced to die and live again. And it’s still better than _there_.” He curled his left hand around Jack’s scapula. “I’ll die a thousand more times. I’ll die alone and unloved if I have to. As long as I still get to be _me_ then I don’t care!” 

Jack didn’t respond. Kept holding on to the trembling form and let whatever torrent work out of Rhys through his clenched teeth. 

“You don’t want anything else?” He eventually asked. His voice hushed. 

“I… if I was really trying to shoot for the moon and… something something stars… then, well I would want people like us to get a second chance.” 

“People like us.”

“Yeah, you don’t just stumble on this town. You do something and feel like you deserve something. Some form of punishment. That’s my theory anyway” 

“You said that before. I really don’t agree. I think this stupid town just hates me, cupcake.” Rhys shrugged. 

“It kinda doesn’t care. It never does. Um, it apathies you?” 

“And what about you? Do something bad there, kiddo? Want to tell Da-” 

“Please don’t taint Hell Light with your flagrant kinks.” Rhys placed a finger in front of Jack’s lips. “And just for doing that I’m not gonna get into it.” 

The space between them was something lighter. A reprieve in the featureless grey. 

“So…” Rhys started with a hesitant showing of confidence. “What do you want Jack? If you had that kind of power, what would _you_ do with it?” 

They had been slowly rocking back and forth. An unsteady rhythm. Their faces remained hovering just apart. Jack tried to find the lost colours to Rhys’ eyes while he thought on it. 

There were so many things he could ask for. To want with unlimited power and his passion. Simple things like a longer lunch hour or a hug from his daughter. Grander things like conquering the company he worked for or being a man worthy of that hug. 

Plenty to ponder, pick apart, and settle on, but most of all - 

“I want you to get that second chance, Rhys.” 

They both stilled together. Rhys’ odd eyes once again searching Jack’s face for something. Jack let him search and lead him by taking his left hand into both of his. The shifting greys pulled in closer around them. The bench disappearing. 

“I mean it.” 

Jack decided against his most charming smile. Wore his most honest grin and gave it a go. In response, Rhys returned it, though hesitant and crooked. 

“Huh. When… when I came back to… something of myself, I was kinda born knowing you. Of what kind of man you were.” Rhys’ fingers curiously felt the hands that were holding them. “When I found you, I already knew you were…” 

“Just knew?” 

“Just knew. And yet you surprised me.” Huffed a bitter laugh. “ _You_ actually came out of this town with more humanity than you walked in with.” There was nothing left of the void, but the two of them standing close and subtly pressing in. Rhys carefully freed his hand to trace the bridge of Jack’s nose. Running a delicate, long finger over the trace bit of scar tissue. Brushing a stray tear track across it while the younger man’s remained undisturbed. 

“It’s okay Jack. You can leave me now.” 

The grey void crashed into them and they both disappeared. 


	4. Almost Home

(Oh! Hello! You must be the next of kin. We talked on the phone? Thanks for meeting with us so soon. We know how difficult this can be.)

(... … …) 

(... … …) 

(Are you alright sir? Do you need a minute before we proceed?)

(... … …) 

(... … …) 

(Of course sir! If you’re sure. You just seemed kinda shaken. Was it the bathrooms? You saw the bathrooms didn’t you?) 

(... … …)

(... … …) 

(Ahem. Right. Well let’s begin then. We have these initial forms to read first, standard procedure, then a few signatures from you.) 

(... … …) 

(... … …) 

(Yes we’ll handle the funerary services. Just sign here please. Aaaand there we go! Don’t you worry sir. We’re professionals and will handle putting your grandmother’s remains to rest with respect!) 

(... … …) 

(... … …) 

(You’re welcome! Right then. Let us see here. Ah. Okay. I, of sound mind and body, do hereby state that the following document does reflect the instructions of my bequeathment upon my passing and so on do state -) 


	5. And the Answer the World Gave

_“Am I a bad person?” Asked the man to the world._

_“What else were you trying to be?” Asked the world._

____________________________________________________________

He was home. 

He pulled up to the house. The sun rising bright overhead. A clear, new day. 

Jack felt the mechanical click of the seat belt lock releasing down in his bones. He didn’t feel himself getting out of the car. 

Everything was just the same as… when he had left it. Wait. Was that right?

“Sweet Pea?” Jack called. He called again, his voice bordered on hysterical. Did he not make it back home? Did the town pull him down another level of its depraved depths? For all he knew he was kneeling before a random dilapidated building screaming for his daughter. Or sinking his car to the bottom of that forsaken lake? Would he even care if that’s how he went out if he just got to see his girl again? 

“Dad?” Angel came out. She hadn’t changed a bit. Jack felt ages older. His bones more of dust than calcium. Yet here she was unchanged. Looking at him bewildered. Meeting her eyes Jack knew his answer. 

He wouldn’t care. 

He sprinted up to her faster than when his life depended on it.

“Heya Princess.” Jack came to a stop just in front of her. Meg excused herself in the background and lead Wilhelm away too. 

“How was your trip, Jack?” She flexed her hold on her lofstrand crutches. 

“It was… memorable.” 

“Wished I had come then.” 

“No! Um, no, I don’t think you would have liked it much.” Angel smiled politely. 

“Legal paperwork an absolute monster?” 

“You got in one there, baby girl.” Her eyes tightened at that. He pressed on through the spaces left. “Hey so… I was thinking… later after dinner, I was thinking we could have a talk. Not like a lecture or anything! More if _you_ wanted to talk about anything and I could listen and…” 

He tried to breath. This was so much harder than stabbing that monster. How was _that_ fair? 

“Jack?” 

“Can- may I hug you?” He burst out. 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to! I just… feel that you might want… one…” Or something. Would you like a better father Angel because it felt like his best wasn’t really working and the bottom of that lake seemed like prime real estate at the moment. 

“Sure.” Her voice, clear as crystal, broke through. 

She lead the whole thing. At sixteen, Angel stood proudly at his shoulders. Her thin arms looped under his broad ones. Pulled him forward with an easy strength, Jack never appreciated before. 

He held her back. 

“So you did need a hug.” 

“Definitely did.” His daughter patted him on the back. They parted and he only lingered a second longer. “You got it in one, Dad.” 

Some remaining tension eased from his body. 

“And about that talk.” 

Tension back! The tension was back! 

“I get to pick dinner.” Her grin cheeky and the rising sun caught the deep blue of her eyes. 

“Heck yeah! Angel dinner night!” A bit much but he allowed himself such a verbose luxury. 

“I’m thinking pizza. Would be a good chance to ease the new neighbour in.” The who and what now? 

Jack looked over. Sure enough a small parade of movers were marching back and forth between two large vans. Boxes and boxes and even more boxes still of stuff unloaded into the modern styled home. Jack and Angel watched the procession for a bit. They didn’t have to watch long. 

As the final boxes and furniture was finally brought into the house and they began to pack up their vans to move out, the new neighbour stepped out to sign some forms with the manager. 

He was wearing long, tightly fitted dress pants. A tacky pair of boots peeking out from under the pressed hem. A smart, golden button up and black vest, combo. His warm, chestnut brown hair up in a carefully styled coif. He nodded to something the manager said before the moving crew drove off. 

A shiny, prosthetic right arm gave them a good natured wave. He turned after the movers disappeared down the road and met Jack’s eyes. A deep ache wounded his heart softly. 

“You want to go say hi, Dad?” 

He nodded dumbly. The older man tucked his hands into his jean pockets and walked in step with his daughter over to the new neighbour. 

“Hi!” Angel’s voice a bright bubble of welcoming. 

“Hey!” The new man called in a pleasantly deep voice. “You the welcoming committee?” 

His face dusted pink from the move. What smelled like a top-dollar cologne subtly came from him. 

When both Angel and her father reached him finally, he held out his right hand with steady confidence. Angel excitedly shook it. Jack firmly took it and just stared, for a solid minute. Took in the soft warmth from it. Slowly working up to stiffy shaking it twice. Then followed the arm all the way up to the guy’s face again. 

He had heterochromia. One eye a deep chestnut brown just like his hair and groomed eyebrows. The other was harder to pin down. It too caught the sun just like Angel’s eyes had, but where hers had shone a clever flicker, this man’s eye shone a faded gold. The older man felt another ache. 

“Nice to… meet you.” Jack did it. He solved the puzzle on talking to a new person. And it worked because the man chuckled. 

“You too. I’m Rhys.” 

“My name’s Angel. Are you new to the area or just the neighbourhood?” 

“The area.” He twirled his finger around. “I found this place has more opportunities for my work.” 

“Do you work in tech?” Angel politely gestured to his right arm. He shook his head.

“You’d think so and I’m not that bad at coding, but no. I’m a human rights lawyer.” 

Oh come on. 

Slowly Angel turned to Jack wearing the smuggest grin he had ever seen on her face since she was two and figured out how to quickly undo all the child-safety locks around the house. The new parent books hadn’t prepared him for bargaining with a baby to please stop breaking into places just because she could. 

Jack coughed into his hand. 

“Oh. That’s, uh, very important work.” And before his daughter could further continue. “My daughter and I would love to have you for dinner. We’re thinking the classy choice of pizza.” 

“You can’t cook either can you?” 

“As an art form, it’s really a subjective topic to-” 

“No he can’t.” 

“Angel!” Scandalised twice in one morning. “Ignoring the peanut gallery over here.” He hooked an arm over Angel’s shoulders with her letting out an indignant squawk when he busted out his real Secret Dad Weapon - the gentle noogie. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” 

“Sure thing.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Angel wiggled free, and mock glared. Revenge was probably working behind her bright eyes, but Jack just held Rhys’ gaze instead. Then tried again for a charming handshake and an honest smile. 

“You said coding. You work on this beautiful little number?” 

“I’m actually partnered with an organisation that works with outfitting people with the tools they need to-” 

“Oh my gosh pumpkin. I get it. I get the sales pitch.” He playfully interrupted. 

“Well I think it’s pretty handy.” A beat before wiggling his eyebrows. “Eh, eh? Come on.” 

“Really? We’re gonna start off this relationship with puns?”

“Who said anything about starting a relationship?” 

“I did. Hopefully tonight at dinner, let’s say seven?” 

“Alright then… Okay.” Rhys smiled so bright it was like the summer sun cascading off of clear lake water. Jack felt the ache a little bit less this time. “I’m ready to give it a chance.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the love and support!  
> For a fun reread here are the radio bits uncensored: 
> 
> Jack’s Grandmother on the radio:  
> “John? John! Listen here boy! You can’t run away from me! After everything I’ve done. I am the parent and you are the child! You think you’re better? Think you’ve escaped my sins? You can’t even recognize the second chance standing in front of you! You inherited blood stained hands.” 
> 
> Rhys’ voice on the radio  
> “Jack? Jack, I’m still here! This town won’t let me die! You’re so close! Keep going! Don’t leave me!”
> 
> I’ve been debating what I wanted to put into this note. I like to leave my notes and the making of to the end of a work so readers can go through without me trampling on their experience, or however my anxiety has put it. But if you’d like I’m going to talk about the making of this thing because I did not do that on my last long work and kinda regret it. 
> 
> So last year during my first official introduction into the fandom I discovered wonderful content creators and their generous bounty for me to consume. Feeling a need to express my gratitude and in a fit of passion I wrote about 12k in a month. Also I had a major surgery I wasn’t sure I would survive looming on the horizon. That was a motivator. 
> 
> When I heard about this challenge I… overestimated myself because of that. “Several months? Pah!” I thought, “I can easily outdo myself by a wide margin with that time frame!” Then life decided to throw a net on me, set that net on fire, then finished by kicking me repeatedly. 
> 
> Anyone nearby me suffered me bemoaning constantly. The slow, slow, Slow Burn work I wanted to create suffered. I have never had to cut so much from a work before to make it by the deadline. How Rhys ended up in Silent Hill, the history of Jack and his wife, Angel’s medical record, John growing up, several monsters/locations/weapons/and so on did not make it into this. (hell at some point I just plugged points of my life into Jack’s backstory to pad a bit and hopefully no one noticed aaaaahhhh) That’s not me trying to puff up my piece as more important or saying that “oh if only that cut content made it in here! Then it would be saved!” We can only judge what exists here. 
> 
> I really do have to thank the artist I worked with nastiibruja. She shared her rough sketch and I was floored! And it was not a scene I had planned really. So I cut the Dead Wife Boss Monster (called Oh Mother Mother in my notes) into that brief encounter and tried to bring my best to highlight an art piece that deserves it and honestly better. 
> 
> My worry in the end is this came off as rushed or choppy with inconsistent characterisation or general OOCness. My hope is the work was fun at the bare minimum, engaging if possible, and inspiring in a good way at best. 
> 
> Who knows, this could become a series where I polish up and post the cut content. That sounds like a neat future lark. 
> 
> Take care all and see you in the next bit!


End file.
